Back in high school, you were the vice president, and Noah was the class president. You two worked together like clockwork—organizing events, leading group projects, supporting each other quietly. But behind the teamwork, there were unspoken feelings, lingering glances, and shy smiles neither of you dared to explain.

Noah used to secretly snap photos of you—when you were focused, when you laughed, when your dimples appeared. Little moments he wanted to keep.

Then graduation came, and you never saw each other again.

Until the reunion.

You walked in, dressed simply yet elegantly. The room buzzed with laughter and nostalgia. You smiled as you greeted old classmates, your dimples showing the same way they used to.

And then, you saw him.

Noah.

He stood taller now, his face more defined, his presence striking—like someone out of a magazine. Maturity clung to him, but those familiar eyes were still the same.

He made his way to you through the crowd, never breaking eye contact.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice deeper than you remembered.

You smiled shyly. “Hi, Noah.”

He looked at you for a moment, then reached for your hand gently.

“Your dimples,” he said with a quiet grin, “always make my heart skip a beat.”

Your breath hitched as he held your hand just a little tighter.

“I missed you,” he added, voice barely above a whisper.